Definitely Maybe
by PAPER.xo.GHOSTS
Summary: She drove her car off a bridge in 2008. She woke up in the hospital in the 1960's. And she is utterly, completely, astronomically screwed over. Plus she needs a job -- anyone willing to hire? Oh God... -- and a place to live. And maybe a way home... maybe
1. Chapter 1

It was cold, rainy, and the roads were slick. Usually she would never drive in conditions like this, but she promised that she would be there for Thanksgiving dinner. This was the first year she could drive on her own, and the first year she was going without her parents, who liked to fight all the time and drive slow. Not that she wasn't driving slowly now, but earlier she had been perfectly on schedule.

On the seat beside her was a brown corduroy bag purse, which was emitting a low-key ringing sound. Against her better judgement, she reached into her bag to pull out the Treo inside, accidentally yanking the steering wheel over as well.

"Oh shit!" she screamed, watching helplessly out the windshield as the SUV went barrelling off the bridge. She could feel the freezing cold water of the river filling up the car, pulling it down to the depth. She yelled, but no one could hear her. She tried to push the doors open, but the water pressure was much too strong. She felt numb, and breathing was hard. Stars burst in her eyes; she couldn't see. She couldn't feel. She stopped breathing.

*

Her entire body felt hot. No hurt or sharp pains, just hot. There was something stabbing into her hand; a plastic tube in and under her nose. She blinked her eyes open, and they seared. Her throat was dry. She could see a nurse standing by in a white uniform, and tried to call her attention. All she could get out was a bit of a squeaky grunt. It worked, anyway; the nurse turned, her eyes wide – obviously she was surprised. But when she realized what made the noise, the pretty, grey-haired woman just smiled.

"You're finally awake, dear," the nurse said soothingly, grabbing a cup from the table beside the hospital bed, and brought it slowly to the lips of the cut-and-bruised copper top girl in the hospital bed. "What's your name?"

"Spencer Fields," was the girl's reply. She studied the nurse carefully; whose nametag said Nurse Allen. The woman was at least fifty, with tight grey curls and small, blue eyes with deep laugh lines. She was wearing a very old fashioned Nurse's dress, and red-and-white hat.

"You've been out for a very long time, Miss Fields," Nurse Allen said, handing Spencer the cup of water. Spencer grabbed it with her IV-free hand, and took another deep swig of it. "You're very lucky someone drove by and noticed you washed up on the shore."

"On the shore?" Spencer asked, her voice still a bit scratchy. "That's not right. I drove my car off the bridge by accident, trying to answer my cell. I was stuck in the car."

"Your cell?" the nurse asked, putting the back of her hand on Spencer's forehead to check her temperature. "You're delirious dear, I think. Perhaps some more rest."

Nurse Allen filled a pitcher of cold water and put it on the bedside table, along with a proper sized cup, before quietly leaving towards the door.

"Wait!" Spencer called, and the nurse turned in the doorway. "What's the date?"

"The twelfth of November, dear," Nurse Allen replied. "Nineteen sixty three."


	2. Chapter 2

This chapter stems from the need to write but having nothing to write about. In other words, it's not very good. I just need to get the story flowing, so there might be a couple awkward sounding chapters, such as this one. Bear with me, please?  
And I shall give thanks to everyone who put me on their alerts. Even more so, these people who reviewed: GundamGirlie456, Flag, Sc1986, Cammy98, and odi101. And an extra special thank you to whatcoloristhesky, for helping me with ideas in abundance and being a very enjoyable person to talk to.

* * *

Spencer Fields pushed open the door to the diner as quietly as she could. She was fresh out of the hospital, with stitches behind her ear and bruises on her face concealed with ten-cent cover up from a corner store. Miraculously, along with the clothes she'd been wearing at the time, Spencer's wallet had survived the car crash and time travel, the thought of which threatened to rupture a blood vessel in her head. She'd taken the money to a thrift store and bought as many clothes as she could, trying to stay as true as possible to her regular style. There was no doubt about it; it was going to be a challenge for her to survive here. The clothes were different, the hairstyles, the way people talked and did their make-up – even the things they knew were different. Spencer's dark red hair was in natural, thick curls and waves down to the middle of her back, with bangs cut to the sides. So far all the girls she'd seen had their hair in big, fake curls and front bangs. She had changed in a gas station bathroom after buying enough clothes to last her a month at least without doing laundry. She'd then hid the bags in an empty, ramshackle house, overgrown with weeds and moss. It was obvious no one had lived there for years, and no one intended to, so she was going to use it to squat. Yes, squat. Like a hobo. It wasn't a very pleasing thought at all, but the water in the house still ran, and the roof wasn't cracked.

She wore the nicest looking thing she had bought, which wasn't exactly classy, because who brought classy clothes to a thrift store in the first place? The best she'd been able to do was a pleated grey and red skirt that rose at least five inches above her knees, a black tee shirt that was a tad bit tight but long enough to cover her stomach, a pair of white canvas shoes, and the dark grey pea coat she'd been wearing before the car crash. Spencer thought she looked stupid, but she did look almost exactly like every other girl she saw, except less slutty and with only eyeliner on instead of ten caked-on layers of blush, eye shadow, and lipstick.

The diner was pretty empty. An old man sat near the back with a newspaper and coffee; a very young woman and a baby were seated right by the door; and a boy who only looked a few years younger than Spencer was applying extra hair grease to a slick, black mop upon his head. In her opinion he really didn't need any more, but she wasn't going to mention that to him. There was a red and white sign on the front counter that said Help Wanted, and the thin, balding man behind the counter was eyeing her as she checked out the sign.

"You lookin' for a job?" he asked in a thick Southern drawl.

"Yes sir," Spencer said confidently, although she felt a little intimidated by the man.

"Any experience?"

"Some," she replied. "I worked at a fast food place back in... back home. I did cash." She wasn't sure how people here felt about foreigners, so she opted to just not tell him where she was really from. And especially not that the fast food place she worked at didn't even exist yet to him.

"Well then you got yourself a job," he said. "I'm Richard, an' you work from five to ten ev'ry evenin', Tuesday to Saturday. Waitress." It was Sunday now. She'd be having Thanksgiving dinner with her family tomorrow if none of this had happened. Although they lived in America now, they still celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving. Spencer had no idea when Thanksgiving was here.

"Fantastic, thanks," Spencer said, smiling. The man just stared back, until Spencer was turned around and out the door. He really gave her the creeps. But at least she had a job, and once she got enough money she'd try to find a place to live. It would be a bit tricky, since she was only sixteen and had no parents to sign for her, but she'd figure out a way. That or she'd just live in the abandoned house forever. Buy a bed and be done with it. It probably wouldn't even be that bad.


End file.
